Twilight Zone
by sendintheclowns
Summary: A creature from their past revisits the boys in their time of grief. Will they be able to put aside their feelings and deal with this old threat? Set directly after ELAC S2 . Sequel to Enter Sandman but it's not necessary to read that story first.
1. Chapter 1

Twilight Zone – Part 1 of 3

Summary: A creature from their past revisits the boys in their time of grief. Will they be able to put aside their feelings and deal with this old threat? Set directly after ELAC (S2). Somewhat of a sequel to Enter Sandman but it's not necessary to read that story first.

-0-

Bobby entered the kitchen and grabbed his chipped mug, ready for another cup of coffee. When he reached for the carafe he found it missing. That was the main drawback to having guests in his house –no matter how many pots of coffee he made, it disappeared before he could have more than one cup.

Not that the lack of coffee was the only drawback. Another one was standing at the sink, running hot water, staring at the wall blankly.

Sam had taken blow after blow in the loss department and outwardly appeared to be bearing up okay with the death of John Winchester, but Bobby was pretty sure it was a front.

In a reversal of their usual roles, Dean's feelings seemed to be exploding out of him, both with physical and emotional outbursts. Bobby wasn't stupid, he'd seen the damage to the Impala's trunk that hadn't been a result of the accident and he'd heard the way the older Winchester boy snapped at the youngest for no apparent reason.

Sam, for his part, seemed content to take the verbal jabs from his brother and withdraw into himself. Strange days, indeed.

Well there was nothing Bobby could do at the moment to mend the Winchesters but he could make another pot of coffee if he had the carafe. "Sam, are you washing the coffee pot?"

The young man continued to stare ahead with a zoned out expression on his face. It would be one thing if there were a window over the sink, something to look upon, but there was only a bare, dingy, white wall. Bobby could see the steam rising from the sink. If nothing else, his dishes had probably never been so clean before.

And then Bobby's gut twisted when he looked closely and saw that Sam's left hand was directly under the flow of scalding water and the boy wasn't making a peep or withdrawing his hand. "Damn it, boy, what are you trying to do to yourself?"

Not sure what kind of response he'd get, but expecting something, Bobby sprang into action when Sam ignored him. Twisting the faucet to off the seasoned hunter cringed when he felt the heat of the metal faucet. Grabbing Sam by the arms, Bobby pulled the dazed boy away from the sink and propelled him toward the kitchen table. The younger man dropped awkwardly into the hard backed chair when the back of his legs were jammed against the seat.

Sam's bangs were hanging in his eyes, obscuring the bruised face from Bobby's view. Grabbing Sam by the wrist, he lifted the hand and saw the bright red burn marks. "What the hell is wrong with you, boy?"

Bobby had grown used to the silent treatment so when no response was forthcoming he moved to the sink, turning on the tap to its coldest setting, and then pulled out a clean towel from the drawer next to the sink. When the water was running cold, he soaked the towel before wringing it out.

During this whole procedure his brain was churning, trying to process what his eyes had seen. And he didn't like any of the possibilities his brain was turning up.

Striding back to the quiet boy, Bobby wrapped the cool towel gently around the burnt limb. Bobby grabbed Sam's chin in his right hand and pulled his head up. When Sam still refused to make eye contact and hadn't uttered a word, Bobby flashed his left hand in front of Sam's face.

No response.

This was plain old creepy. How did Sam knowingly scald himself and then not respond? Unless, of course, he wasn't able to or didn't realize that was what had happened.

It didn't matter whether Sam was responsive or not, the first order of business was to take care of the heated splotches covering the top of Sam's hand. Blisters were already popping up, Sam's face was beyond pale, and his eyes were dilated.

Sam was going into shock.

Leaning down, Bobby wrapped his hands tightly around Sam's biceps and pulled him to his feet. By wrapping an arm around the boy's waist, Bobby was able to maneuver the unusually compliant Sam the short distance between the kitchen and the living room. The bedrooms were upstairs so Bobby opted to settle the injured boy on the couch. Once he had Sam stretched out, flat on his back, Bobby pulled the ancient afghan off the back of the second hand couch and smoothed it over the supine Winchester.

Bobby returned to the kitchen and filled a bowl with cool water. Dashing back to Sam, he unwrapped the younger man's hand and dunked it in the liquid. Satisfied that the damaged limb was submersed in the cool water, Bobby placed the bowl on the floor.

Going back to the kitchen, he fished out the first aid kit and found the Bacitracin and a nonstick sterile dressing. Once the skin temperature had cooled down and the area was gently dried he would spread the antibiotic ointment to the affected area and cover it with dressing to keep it clean.

The last step Bobby needed to take involved treating the pain he was sure was contributing to Sam's shock so he filled a glass with cool water. Upon locating the acetaminophen in a crowded cupboard, Bobby dumped out four pills into his own shaking hand. Double the recommended dose but he figured it would do the trick.

Stepping back into the living room, Bobby heaved a sigh of concern. Sam was still staring straight ahead, face blank and eyes vague. Setting the glass of water down on the coffee table, Bobby slipped his palm under the heavy head and raised it up. "Here, Sam, I want you to swallow these down."

Without argument, without blinking, Sam received the pills into his mouth and swallowed them down when Bobby held the glass up to his lips. As Bobby lowered his head back to the couch, Sam's eyes lowered.

Perching on the coffee table, Bobby reached across Sam's body and lifted his right hand. Placing two fingers on the pulse point, the older man timed the beats. Fast, but not a medical emergency.

Sam shouldn't need medical attention as long as the scald didn't develop signs of infection. He might, however, still need medical attention if his non-responsive behavior were anything to go by.

Bobby stared toward the door, willing Dean to appear. The hunter thought to himself he just might be getting too old for this shit after all.

-0-

Dean entered the kitchen through the back door and gave a sigh of relief; the kitchen was empty. He'd half expected his brother to ambush him with questions of how he was feeling and didn't he need to talk things through. But come to think of it, Sam hadn't pulled that since they'd killed the Rakshasa at the circus. No, actually he'd stopped stalking Dean with his grief counseling tactics after the scene at the Impala last week.

That had been a doozy. A subdued Sam had told Dean he wasn't doing okay and that he knew Dean wasn't either. He hadn't stuck around for Dean's response – a sledgehammer applied to the trunk of the already heavily damaged Impala.

Sam thought grief was turning Dean inside out but that was only a part of it. Anger had driven Dean to lose his control.

His dad's cryptic words about Sam, uttered in the hospital right before his dad died, had taken a heavy toll on Dean. And the kicker was Dean couldn't say anything to his brother about it. Sam would be devastated if he found out his dad thought he might have to be put down like some rabid animal.

If Dean breathed a word of what their dad had imparted, Sam might go off the deep end. He might even try to leave. And that was one thing Dean couldn't survive. Not again. And certainly not on the heels of losing his dad, his hero, so recently.

So Dean sucked it up and tried to hold it together. Not that he was doing a bang up job but he found if he avoided being in Sam's presence too much, it was more tolerable. If he didn't have to face Sam's concerned face and beseeching eyes, he could make it through each day without folding up into a ball and railing at the injustice of life.

And death.

Deep down, he knew his dad had given his life, sold his soul, so that Dean could live. It wasn't something he'd given voice to, but there really wasn't another explanation as to why Dean had escaped a grim reaper and John Winchester had suddenly collapsed dead.

Pouring every ounce of energy he had into fixing the Impala, Dean let the rest of the world, including his little brother, fade into the background. That could account for why he didn't have a clue as to where Bobby and Sam were right now. It was going on 6 pm and usually something would be on the stove burner or in the oven, waiting to tempt Dean's appetite. But the kitchen was void of tantalizing smells.

Dean moved through the doorway and paused when he saw Bobby standing in front of the couch, speaking softly. He was tempted to creep through the living room and high tail it upstairs where a nice, warm shower was waiting for him but something in Bobby's body language made him linger.

Bobby alternated between bending over and standing up straight but there was no mistaking the stiffness in his shoulders and back. The older man appeared to be upset.

Inching closer, Dean tried to figure out what was going on while remaining inconspicuous.

The older man's voice was quiet but the aggravation came through loud and clear. "Dammit boy, I think you need your head examined."

Quelling the snort that threatened to burst from his lips, Dean remained silent in his amusement. So good ole Bobby was giving Sam what for. At least he assumed it was little brother since the Winchesters had been his only visitors these last couple of weeks. He wondered what his good intentioned but sometimes dense brother had done to upset their host.

Dean couldn't hear Sam's side of the conversation; his voice was only a soft murmur, which was surprising since Bobby was the one with his back to Dean.

Bobby's reply was more disgruntled and louder this time. "Are you sure they cleared you? I mean head trauma is nothing to screw around with. Because I've got to say, this…whatever you call it, that's not normal. I think you need to get it checked out."

His interest thoroughly piqued, Dean couldn't stay silent any longer. "What's going on?"

Moving into the living room he saw Bobby standing protectively over a reclining Sam. What the hell was his little brother doing lying down at this time of the day?

Skirting the coffee table, Dean got his first look at his brother. The old plaid afghan that usually rested on the back of the couch was draped over his brother. Sam turned his head at the sound of Dean's voice and he was reminded that his little brother still had bruises fading with yellows and green surrounding his right eye. The colors only heightened the pallor of the skin. "Well, don't everyone speak at once."

Sam fidgeted on the couch, throwing his long legs to the side until his feet hit the ground, a groan exploding from his lips as he sat up. Bobby steadied him with a hand to his shoulder. "Easy, Sam. Just relax."

Trying to rein in his impatience, Dean pushed past Bobby and sank onto the couch next to his brother. "What's going on, Sammy?"

The childhood nickname just jumped out of his mouth. Dean realized he hadn't used it since before their dad…well, he hadn't used it in a while. But Sam was obviously under the weather and it had always been Dean's job to look out for him. Sammy fit the situation.

However, Sam wasn't very communicative which irritated Dean. His lack of patience these days was another reason he tried to steer clear of his little brother; he didn't want to say something hurtful, like _too little, too late._

Sam kept his eyes on the ground but finally found his voice. "I, ah, burned my hand. It's nothing. But I think I'll turn in early."

Pushing off the couch with his right hand, cradling the bandaged left hand against his middle, Sam rose to his feet awkwardly. Bobby reached out as if to steady his brother but Sam brushed his hand away. "Thanks, Bobby, but I'm okay now. I'll see you in the morning. 'Night."

Dean was at a loss for words. The tension in the living was thick and Bobby stared at Sam's retreating back with heavy concern. Pushing himself to his feet, Dean started for the stairs. His brother wasn't okay if he was hitting the sack before dinner.

While Dean had buried his head, trying and failing to come to terms with his dad's bizarre instructions, something had happened to his brother. A strong, tanned hand snagged him by the elbow, halting his progress. "Just leave him be for now. I think we need to talk."

Looking toward the stairs where his brother had disappeared, Dean was torn. He wanted to see with his own two eyes that Sam wasn't hurt worse than "just a burn." But maybe Bobby would fill him in on what was going on. His brother certainly hadn't wanted to which set off all sorts of warning bells in Dean's head. "Yeah, sure. Is there any coffee left?"

Dean didn't understand Bobby's pained expression at the mention of coffee. He suspected it was going to be a long conversation and he could use the caffeine pick me up.

-0-

Sam had to stop midway up the stairs as a wave of dizziness hit him. Something damp hit his upper lip and when he brought his right hand up and touched it with his fingers, they came away bloodied. Fantastic, he had a nosebleed. Again. This was the fourth one he'd had in the last couple of days. It was just what he needed to top off his spectacular day.

He was still reeling from what Bobby had told him – apparently Sam had held his hand under scalding water and had no memory of it. He'd woken up on the couch, confused and with a killer headache that matched the throbbing in his hand. The older man had patiently explained his lack of response throughout the whole event and then demanded answers.

Had this happened before that Sam was aware of? Did Sam remember anything? Did Sam know what had set him off?

No, Sam did not.

And that terrified Sam more than the scald or waking up disoriented. Sam wondered if he was losing his mind. It had been a brutal year and maybe his sanity had slipped along the way.

Still grieving for his father, and the lost chance to fix that relationship, Sam was now faced with his distant brother. The vitriol Dean had hurled at him after Bobby's minivan broke down while on their last job had really hit Sam hard. _Too little, too late. _Yeah, like Sam hadn't figured that one out. And to top it off, Dean couldn't stand to be in the same room as Sam. That hurt more than Dean's words.

Trying to forget his troubled relationship with his brother, Sam mopped up the blood on his face from the nose bleed and brushed his teeth. That was hard enough to accomplish with one hand but changing into his pajama bottoms and a clean t-shirt had almost thrown him over the edge. He kept forgetting about his damaged hand but it was sure to remind him if he jostled it too much.

Sam tried to relax but his mind kept circling back to his brother. He was trying to fly under the radar, not do anything to upset or stress his brother further. Spacing out and scalding himself as well as nosebleeds and dizziness didn't exactly fit with his plan.

Pulling back the covers, Sam sank down onto the single bed. A low hum filled his ears, adding to the pervasive dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. He felt strangely at peace and instead of fighting the feeling, Sam allowed himself to drift off.

-0-

Dean cradled the coffee mug between his hands tightly. The tension was radiating off him in waves and what Bobby was about to tell him wouldn't help his peace of mind. But ignoring the problem wouldn't make it disappear so Bobby jumped in with both feet. "Have you noticed anything off about your brother?"

Instead of the patented snarky Dean Winchester reply, the younger man pursed his lips as though in thought. "He stopped bugging me about helping with the Impala so I haven't seen that much of him lately. What exactly is going on?"

Bobby took a sip from his own mug, savoring the strong taste. It was a delaying tactic; now that he had Dean's undivided attention, he had second thoughts about interfering between the brothers. Shaking his head, he forced himself to continue. Sam's health was deteriorating and where the youngest Winchester wouldn't listen to Bobby, he might listen to his older brother. "There were a few times I caught him staring into space but I thought he was just deep in thought. But after lunch I found him at the kitchen sink with scalding water running on his left hand. I had to pull him away and it was like he was in a trance or something. He was really out of it."

Rubbing a hand through his short hand, Dean sighed. "Was he having a vision?"

Worry colored the young man's voice and Bobby was relieved; Sam needed his brother to give a damn.

Not much bothered Bobby but since the brothers had come to stay with him, Dean's reluctance to talk to or even stay in the same room as his brother was wearing on Bobby. As if Dean blamed Sam for something.

It was funny how John and Dean had always maintained that Sam wore his heart out on his sleeve and couldn't control his emotions; from the ringside seat Bobby had, he'd have to stay that wasn't true at all. 

Sure, Sam could talk your ear off if you asked the right questions but he'd been withdrawn ever since Bobby had rushed to the hospital to find Dean at death's door and John just marginally better off.

Maybe this problem with Sam would get the brothers to quit dancing around each other and start acting like brothers again. Bobby wasn't much of an optimist but he would take what he could get. "Sam says no. I don't know what to think. I know he's been having some nosebleeds and he's been pretty quiet. I even asked him if his head was bothering him – that car accident and the beating before it really did a number on him. I don't think he ever had it checked out. I know he wouldn't let anyone touch him while you and John were so bad off."

The mug was set down with a thump, coffee sloshing onto the table. "Why didn't Sam say something?"

The voice was low and measured. It throbbed with raw hurt. Like Dean thought there'd been some conspiracy to keep things quiet. There really was nothing Bobby could say to assuage Dean but he still tried. "Simmer down, boy. You need to remember that things have been a mess since…well, since you ended up in the hospital. Sam was the only one mobile enough to see to things. I doubt he was trying to pull one over on you. He just had his hands full is all."

Dean pushed himself to his feet, scraping the kitchen chair back out of his way. "I'm going to go check on Sam. Thanks for…just thanks."

-0-

Dean wasn't sure what he was going to say to Sam. _I'm sorry I haven't been there for you. I'm sorry I've been an asshole. I'm sorry about what Dad said to me._

It all applied but Dean didn't think he could go there yet. He just wanted to make sure his little brother was okay. Although going into trances, burning his hand, and getting nosebleeds didn't sound okay to him. But there were levels of being okay; he just wanted to see with his own eyes how Sam was doing.

Bobby was right, things had been really crazy in the hospital and then when their dad died, everything kind of fell apart. But Dean blamed himself for not knowing that Sam had been more hurt in the crash than he'd let on.

Dean might have been in a coma but when he woke up, he felt fine. He had mild aches and pains but his energy was even okay. Probably courtesy of the deal Dean suspected his dad had made on his behalf.

Sam, however, dragged around, and the bruising on his face was spectacular. Dean had dropped the ball. If Sam was suffering the after affects of the crash and ignoring his own health while seeing to his brother and dad, it would be one more thing to add to the list of things Dean had screwed up.

Pushing open the door to the bedroom he shared with his brother, Dean entered the darkened room. The blinds were drawn shut, screening out most of the afternoon sun, but there was still enough light to make out the shape of his brother curled on his side, facing away from the door. Moving around the bed, Dean was able to see Sam clearly as a weak sunbeam streamed past the blinds, lingering over the sleeping form.

Sam was on his left side, his injured hand cradled against his stomach. His face was drawn in a frown and his body twitched in an uneasy sleep. Dean's eyes were once again drawn to the fading bruise circling Sam's right eye. He'd taken one hell of a beating from Yellow Eyes' son and who knows what kind of damage had occurred between that and the accident.

Dean's right index finger softly touched and traced the bruise. Expecting Sam's eyes to open, Dean was disappointed when his brother slept on.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Dean pulled Sam's left hand onto his lap and gently worked at peeling off a part of the bandage. He wanted to see for himself what Sam had done. There were splotches of deep red interspersed with white blisters. The whole area was wet and shiny. Definitely a second degree burn. "What's going on with you, little brother?"

Sam shifted away, trying to draw his hand with him, but Dean held fast. There was enough adhesive left to the bandage so a new one could wait to be applied in the morning. Dean tugged the bandage over and smoothed down the edges. When he looked at his brother's face, he saw eyes slitted open against the weak rays filtering through the blinds. "Dean, what are you doing in my bed?"

The voice was a soft, drowsy drawl but it was underscored with confusion and it made Dean want to pick him and sooth him like he'd done when Sam was a toddler. "I was checking out your new war wound. Looks kind of painful."

Rolling on to his back, Sam succeeded in pulling his hand away from Dean. "It's fine. I'm just tired."

Dean wasn't sure how to proceed. It was like trying to speak a foreign language and he couldn't find the words; he'd lost his ability to speak Sam-ese. And Sam, hardly ever at a loss for words, was content to just lay there. And then with a sudden cough, Sam seemed to find his voice. "Shit. It's back."

Unsure as to what Sam was referring to when he said "it's back", Dean didn't know how to respond. But then he spotted the dark, wet slick under Sam's nose. "Geez, you've got a nosebleed. Let's get you upright so you don't choke on the blood."

Without waiting for Sam's acquiescence, Dean stood up before working his right hand under his brother's body and pulling him upright. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and swayed a moment. Jamming a pillow behind his back, Dean eased Sam against the headboard. "Lean forward and pinch your nostrils. I'll get a towel."

Not liking what he was seeing, Dean reminded himself to calm down. He knew how to deal with a nosebleed. But sometimes a nosebleed wasn't just a nosebleed. That little scene at Roosevelt Asylum in Rockford when Sam's mind was co-opted by the ghost of Dr. Ellicott was the first thing that sprang to mind. Dean grabbed a hand towel out of the bathroom and returned to Sam.

His little brother was leaning forward over his bent knees, gently squeezing his nostrils with his right thumb and forefinger. Dean tucked the towel on top of Sam's knees to catch any blood that trickled past his fingers.

The minutes ticked by and Dean felt useless. He knew it took a good five minutes to stop a nosebleed and if that didn't work, then he was going to insist on taking Sam to the ER. As it was, he thought it still 

might be a good idea but Sam had the usual aversion to doctors as all Winchester men and short of manhandling Sam, he didn't think he'd be able to get his stubborn brother into the car.

Sam picked up his head, wiping at his face with the towel. Dean couldn't keep the gasp from escaping his lips; with the left-over bruises and fresh blood streaking Sam's lower face, he looked a mess. Transfixed by the blood, it took Dean a moment to realize that Sam was no longer moving. His brother's injured hand rested on the sheets and his right hand perched on his still bent legs but Sam's eyes were focused somewhere in the distance.

So this was the vague, spacey look Bobby had described. It was downright spooky. The lights were on but Sam wasn't home. The more Dean witnessed, the more he suspected there was something supernatural at work.

Gripping Sam's biceps tightly in his hands, Dean gave his brother a quick shake. Sam's head bobbed back and then forward but his face remained lax, his eyes staring ahead vacantly.

Dean had seen this very same look on Sam's face about ten years ago, and it had happened in this very house. He sincerely doubted his brother was being stalked by a Memory Demon but the parallel behavior was uncanny.

Continuing his vigil, Dean perched on the edge of Sam's bed. He remembered Sam's mad climb on the rooftop all those years ago and he wasn't letting Sam get anywhere near a window. Just in case.

Cupping his brother's chin in his palm, Dean brushed the long bangs out of Sam's eyes. Hazel eyes suddenly blinked and focused on Dean's face. "Nos es tamen a nocens memoria."

Dean's calm shattered at the words. He yanked Sam into his arms and hugged him tightly. "This isn't happening. Not again."

Sam leaned his head on Dean's shoulder, pliant in his arms. His brother's arms snaked hesitantly around Dean's neck. "Dean, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

Cradling the back of Sam's head, Dean rocked his brother back and forth. "We've got a problem. It's back."

-0-

Allowing himself to be comforted for a moment, Sam relaxed in his brother's arms. He didn't understand what was happening. He'd had a nosebleed and then found himself cradled against Dean's chest with no idea of how he had got there.

Sam leaned his head forward until it rested on his brother's shoulder. His limbs felt loose and wobbly as he tentatively placed his arms around Dean's neck. When his brother gathered him even closer, Sam's adrenaline kicked in. "Dean, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

His brother rocked Sam in his arms and that only heightened his alarm. Dean's voice was rough and gravelly. "We've got a problem. It's back."

Thinking he was imagining this conversation – Dean didn't hug his brother, forgot rocking him – Sam draped all of his weight into the arms around him and pretended he was a kid again, secure and well cared for by his loved ones. And then his brother spoke again and the illusion was broken. "Sam, are you with me? I said the Memory Demon is back."

Easing away from his brother, Sam saw the worry evident in the lines on Dean's face. But his head was swimming and he felt lethargic despite the lingering pain spiking through his hand. "Can we talk about this tomorrow? I think I need to sleep now."

Dean's hands tugged Sam's unresisting body down until he was laying flat again. "Go ahead and sleep. I'll make sure nothing gets you."

-0-

Bobby could see some of the tension between the brothers had lessened but at the same time Dean looked worried and Sam bemused. "So tell me."

It was the first time in over two weeks that all three men were at the kitchen table. Sam sipped at his doctored up coffee while Dean gulped down the black liquid like a starving man. Bobby waited to see who would crack first and fill him in on what was going on.

Sam concentrated on his coffee while Dean cleared his throat. "I think the Memory Demon is back."

Out of anything Dean might have said, that had to rank up there as one of the most unexpected in Bobby's book. As far as he knew, the Memory Demons had never been caught by John but once they'd extracted the spine out of Sam's head, things had swiftly returned to normal for the Winchesters. In fact, John had never mentioned them again. Out of sight, out of mind. "What makes you say that?"

Dean shot his brother a quick look before proceeding but Sam kept his face down, his hair blocking his face from view. "I saw Sam's freaky space routine last night. After he had a nosebleed. And when he was coming out of his trance, he said _nos es tamen a nocens memoria_. Sound familiar?"

Bobby took his baseball cap off and scratched absently at the top of his head. "We are but a bad memory. Huh, I suppose it's possible. But I thought we got all of the spine out of Sam's head."

Sam picked his head up as his right hand crossed over the front of his body and rubbed the left side of his head awkwardly. "I don't know what to think."

The older brother laid a hand on the younger's shoulder and squeezed. "Well I'll tell you what I think. Until we get this figured out, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He couldn't exactly say the brothers were at ease in each other's company, but Dean had certainly pulled a 180 in regard to his brother in the last twenty-four hours. This was the over protective, older brother routine Bobby was accustomed to seeing.

The youngest Winchester was still pale and withdrawn but if Dean was right and the Memory Demon was back, it would certainly account for his behavior. "Hang in there, Sam. We'll get this figured out."

Bobby's eyes tracked Sam as he eased out from under Dean's hand and drifted toward the sink, clutching his coffee mug in his right hand. His back was stiff as he rinsed it. Bobby kept his eyes peeled for any sign that Sam might fall into a trance and scald himself again. Once was enough.

Trading uneasy glances with Dean, Bobby noticed the dark shadows smudging the skin beneath his eyes. So the older brother had stood guard over the younger all night; at least that was his guess. "I need to pick up some groceries in town. Dean, why don't you catch some winks while Sam and I take care of it?"

Both Bobby and Sam jumped when Dean responded loudly. "NO! I mean, I'm fine. How about if you give us a list and Sam and I go into town instead?"

Sam didn't seem overly enthused with that idea but he didn't put up an argument. And after weeks of wishing Dean would pull his head out of his ass and talk to his brother, Bobby wasn't about to dampen the older brother's protective streak now that it had kicked in. "Yeah, that will work, too. I need to get some things done around here and it's easier without you two big galoots under foot."

-0-

Dean pushed the cart and consulted Bobby's list as Sam wandered listlessly behind him. It was still uncomfortable being around Sam with the horrible things he'd said standing between them. And it wasn't that Dean didn't want to apologize, he just knew if he started talking about his feelings he'd crack and tell Sam about their dad. He normally wasn't a coward but in this case he didn't feel up to the production number he knew would follow if he started that conversation. Especially now, when Sam wasn't feeling well.

Picking up the last item on the list, Dean checked over his shoulder to make sure Sam was still behind him. It irritated him that Sam wouldn't walk next to him but he supposed his little brother still had some issues with the way Dean had been treating him. He consoled himself it was enough that Sam wasn't fighting him about wanting to keep him close. Of course Sam's own memories of that dark time when he'd had a mind altering spine stuck in his head were probably enough to make him uneasy.

Using the last of his money to pay for the groceries, Dean headed for Bobby's truck. Sam lingered by the exit, reading the notices tacked to a bulletin board, while Dean unloaded the cart. He could see his brother from where they were parked and although he'd prefer Sam was right next to him, he'd settle for having him within his sights.

Pushing the metal cart with the broken wheel back to the store, Dean waited while a little red Miata approached him. It was doing in excess of the 5 mph speed posted in the parking lot, but he took a moment to admire the hot, busty blond behind the wheel. She blew him a kiss and smiled widely.

Glancing up, Dean watched as Sam chose that moment to cross the pavement to the truck. From the short distance Dean could see Sam's eyes were glazed. He shouted a warning but it didn't deter Sam.

Abandoning the cart, Dean darted out in front of the Miata and hit Sam with a flying tackle. Both men dropped heavily to the pavement, Dean's body awkwardly covering Sam's, as tires screeched nearby.

Despite the aches in joints, Dean rolled his weight off his brother and brushed the wayward strands out of Sam's face. Hazel eyes sluggishly opened. "What happened?"

Not wanting to go into it out in the open, especially as a cluster of people were ringing around them, Dean ignored Sam's trance and focused on possible injuries. "You're too big to be practicing your tumbling routine in parking lots. Does anything hurt?"

Sam raised himself onto his elbows and blinked his eyes. "Everything hurts. But I don't think I broke anything. Can we go?"

Dean tugged his brother to his feet and steadied him when he wobbled. He turned down someone's request for an ambulance and threw a meaningless apology to the woman driving the Miata. His first concern was Sam and he loaded him into the truck with exaggerated caution.

He knew it was a bad idea to go into town but he didn't want Sam to feel like he was a prisoner at Bobby's.

Now he was thinking locking Sam up wasn't such a bad idea.

TBC

A/N: I really can't say enough good things about my uberbetas – Gidgetgal9 and Floralia. Not only did they clean up my punctuation and spelling, but they tightened up the story. The first draft didn't make a whole lot of sense. With their help, this one is much more coherent. Thanks ladies!


	2. Chapter 2

Twilight Zone – Part 2 of 3

Summary: A creature from their past revisits the boys in their time of grief. Will they be able to put aside their feelings and deal with this old threat? Set directly after ELAC (S2).

A/N: Same as in Part 1. Those ladies rock!

-0-

Sam shook his head and tried to clear the cobwebs. Dean kept taking his eyes off the road and staring at him, asking if he was okay.

He didn't know.

_SSSaaammm._

A voice from the past. God, his brother was right. It was a Memory Demon.

But Sam wasn't scared. "It talks to me. In my head."

He hadn't realized he'd said that out loud until he saw Dean flinch.

Sam knew that sounded crazy and half expected Dean to tell him so. Instead silence stretched uncomfortably between the brothers. "What do you mean, you can hear someone's voice in your head? And it's a demon?"

Focusing his eyes out the passenger window so he couldn't see Dean's expression, Sam tried to explain. "It starts with a low hum in the back of my head but after a while I can understand its thoughts. You were right, it's the Memory Demon."

He'd stopped at the bulletin to scan the notices and he'd felt a tickle at the back of his head. Kind of like when someone is staring at you and you can feel it. Sam had shrugged it off as paranoia until he heard a humming, rich and full, replace the tingling.

The rest was kind of a blur. Sometimes he heard actual words and sometimes it was just impressions of thoughts. On one level he knew he should rejoin Dean at the truck and on another he was engaged in this fantastical conversation with a supernatural being.

He'd been standing at the bulletin board one moment and knocked off his feet the next.

Dean pulled off to the side of the road and put the truck in park. "Sam, look at me."

Reluctantly Sam turned his head back to his brother and instead of anger or scepticism, he was met with concern. It was rare that his brother let his feelings show like this. "It told me it's the last of its kind and it's dying."

Dean shook his head in wonderment. "And out of all the people around, it chooses you to communicate with. You're such a freak."

There was no heat to Dean's response and Sam knew it was supposed to make him laugh and break the tension, but instead it made Sam shiver. He could deny it all he wanted but he was a freak. His mom died for him and then Jess gave her life to the same sad cause. As sure as he knew Dean blamed himself for their dad's death, Sam blamed himself for his mom's and girlfriend's. What spectacular family genes. "I think maybe I should keep talking to it, see what it wants. I mean as long as you or Bobby are around."

Pressing his lips tightly together, Dean's hand cranked the key and the engine begrudgingly started up. "Let's get you to Bobby's and check you over before we start making any decisions."

Sam knew it was crazy but he wanted to keep his link with the Memory Demon. It had been around since the dawn of man and with that kind of knowledge…yeah, with that knowledge he thought maybe it could help them defeat the Yellow Eyed Demon.

-0-

Bobby heard the truck pull up and went to the window. Instead of unloading groceries, he saw Dean carefully unloading Sam.

Hustling out to help, he found both brothers looking like they'd been in a wrestling match. The blue flannel shirt Dean was wearing was smudged with dirt and torn at the elbows. He seemed to be moving easily.

Sam, however, wasn't. His feet were planted on the ground but he swayed in place, his clothes coated in dust and spotted with mud. His hair was tangled more than usual and it flopped straight in his eyes. When he brushed at it with his right hand, a grimace stretched his face. Dean slid an arm around Sam's waist and Bobby could see the younger brother wanted to push the helping hand away but when he started to tip over, he was forced to accept it.

Bobby moved in to brace Sam's other side. The younger man let some his weight drop on to Bobby's shoulder with resistance. "That must have been one hell of a shopping trip."

Both men wrapped one of Sam's arms around his shoulder and anchored his waist with the other as they approached the stairs leading up to the front door. Dean's voice was low and striving for calm but Bobby could hear the panic. "Just relax and let us do the work, Sam."

Once they'd navigated the stairs, they guided Sam into the house and settled him on the couch. The younger man's face was pale and when he shifted on the couch, exhaustion was evident in his slow, precise movements. Sam's eyes snapped open and he found Bobby staring at him. "It is the Memory Demon. It can talk to me. In my head."

The shaggy haired man tilted his head back and rested it against the back of the couch. Dean took up the rest of the story. "Sam nearly stepped out in front of a car cruising through the parking lot and I tackled him out of the way. That little stunt is courtesy of the Memory Demon."

Dean's tone was hostile but Bobby could hear the undercurrents of alarm in the strident voice. Sam ignored Dean's words altogether. "Bobby, do you think I could have some Tylenol? Even though Dean tackles like a girl, the pavement was hard."

Bobby suppressed the smile itching to get out. The brothers were at least acting in a more consistent manner now. Now they just had to find a way to deal with the Memory Demon.

-0-

Dean was frustrated. He was frustrated that Sam shied away from him when he was trying to check him for damage and he was frustrated that Sam had opted to lay down instead of talk to Dean.

He'd managed to bruise Sam's back when he'd tackled him and his kid brother had knocked the back of his head against the unforgiving pavement but there were no signs of a concussion.

Unbidden, the scene with the Miata was replaced by a scene from when Dean was seventeen.

_The window was wide open. Thrusting his head outside, Dean saw something that shook him to his core._

_Sam was balanced precariously on the steep pitch of the roof, inching his way to the edge._

_Dean clambered out the window and nearly fell on his ass. The roof was coated with frost and it was hard to get any traction. Especially in his socks._

_Trying not to startle his brother, Dean called out to him softly. "Sammy, what are you doing?"_

_Sam continued his slow progress and didn't acknowledge Dean's presence. The slick roof was almost his little brother's undoing as one of his feet shot out from under him, dumping him back onto the roof. Sam slid a yard before his unprotected hands stopped his descent._

_Bile flooded Dean's throat. "Sammy!"_

Dean tried to forget their first go around with the Memory Demon but the more he tried, the more the past memories popped up and smacked him the face. Watching Sam move toward the edge of the second story roof while under the influence of that thing had just about given him a heart attack. And now Sam wanted to submit to it? His brother had already scalded himself and stepped into the path of a car. If those weren't a big enough wakeup call then Dean didn't know what was.

His brother might not have a concussion but Dean suspected Sam was out of his mind. Why else would Sam be so eager to put himself in harm's way? He could tell that Sam was digging in, that he wanted to pursue these unsolicited chats with this supernatural creature. Most likely the same creature who had stuck his little brother with a spine in hopes of luring him back to feed off his memories before it spit him back out. _Tainted. Wicked. _Dean wondered if Sam remembered that from his previous encounter with that thing.

Pacing between the kitchen and the living room, Dean was pretty certain his behavior had driven Bobby into his garage. He needed to tone it down before Bobby gave both brothers the heave ho, but he was 

frantic with worry. Dean had to make Sam see reason. And more importantly, he needed Sam's help to figure out how to get rid of _it_. But he needed the first to happen in order to achieve the second goal.

And Dean knew from experience when Sam made up his mind, it was near impossible to change it. He couldn't say Sam was narrow-minded, quite the opposite in fact. But when he was convinced he was right, he was a hand full.

He flinched as he remembered some of the battles his dad and Sam used to wage. Heated words. Doors banging. In the early years there were tears which eventually gave way to sullen silence when Sam was a teen. Because in those days, John Winchester always got his way. And Dean had thought no one was smarter than his dad, at least until he told Sam if he left, he could stay gone.

Thinking about his dad was just depressing Dean. He needed to focus on the problem at hand.

Dean needed to find an outlet for his energy or he was going to blow.

-0-

Sam trudged down the stairs. He probably could have slept longer but then he wouldn't be able to sleep at all tonight. Although since Jess's death, he'd gotten accustomed to sleepless nights.

Dean's voice caught him by surprise as he crossed to Bobby's collection of obscure books. "I think we need to talk."

There was a note of finality to Dean's tone and Sam knew he wasn't going to enjoy this conversation. Dropping down onto the couch next to his brother, Sam kept his eyes lowered. He knew the phrase was code for "I'm the older brother and you'll do what I say."

His brother sighed heavily but Sam refused to lift his head. He wasn't going to make this any easier on Dean then he had to. "It's hurting you, Sam. The risks outweigh the rewards. It's time to end it."

Sam's head snapped up and his eyes widened in disbelief. "End it? You mean stop talking to it? But it's dying and it wants to share its knowledge with me."

Jumping to his feet and pacing restlessly, Dean chastised his younger brother. "No, I mean you need to destroy it. Look at what's happened since it made contact with you — you burned your hand, nearly stepped out in front of a car. And you _want_ to spend time with it?"

Not wanting to let Dean gain the upper hand by towering over him, Sam climbed to his feet and moved into Dean's path. "But if someone is with me, keeps me from doing something stupid while it's in my head, we might get lucky. Think about it, Dean. It might know about the Yellow Eyed Demon."

Dean's face twisted into a stiff mask and he grabbed Sam by the upper arms. "No, Sam, you can't reason with it. You can't trust it. You just need to find a way to kill it and then I'll take care of it!"

Sam reached out and touched Dean's arm hesitantly, in a consoling manner. "But it's dying..."

It hadn't been comfortable but Dean was finally talking to him again and Sam thought maybe they could build on it. But things quickly deteriorated into something ugly and Sam wasn't prepared for Dean's reaction.

-0-

Something twisted deep inside of Dean. Sam was going to get himself maimed or killed if he kept on. But Dean couldn't express his concern with eloquent words. Instead he raged. "No, Sam, you can't reason with it. You can't trust it. You just need to find a way to kill it and then I'll take care of it!"

A hand rested lightly on Dean's arm. "But it's dying..."

And that was enough for Dean. Words weren't getting through to his brother so he resorted to action. Cutting his brother off, Dean hauled Sam forward by his biceps and, with each word, gave him a teeth rattling shake. "What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?"

His brother didn't try to break away from Dean, passively withstanding the assault. When Dean stopped his tirade, Sam clutched at Dean's shoulders and his body dipped forward until his head leaned against Dean's chest. "Stop...dizzy."

It was like Dean couldn't help himself. He knew his control had frayed dangerously but he'd thought he'd gotten it out of his system after applying the sledge hammer to the Impala last week.

Now here was Sam, trying to communicate with that _thing_ out there, putting his life at risk. And Dean couldn't get through to him, couldn't find the words. Because if Dean said anything he just might lose it. And he had to stay strong for Sam. It was his job to take care of Sam. That's all Dean had left.

Dean eased Sam back and guided him onto the couch. His brother curled forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hanging down. Dean placed a hand tentatively on the back of Sam's neck and rubbed lightly. Sam was the one who could empathize with words but Dean was a toucher. He'd soothed baby Sammy with rubs. As a toddler he kissed and hugged Sam when he fell down. As Sam grew, each disappointment was met with a rub of his shoulder to Sam's or a jostling of Sam's elbow with his own.

The neck stiffened under Dean's hand and Sam straightened up so that Dean had to withdraw his hand or risk losing his balance. Damn, Sam was going to make him work for it. Make him say the words. "Sam, I'm sorry. I lost it. But you have to see that it's too risky. I won't let you do it."

Without meaning to, Dean had thrown down the gauntlet. If you wanted Sam's compliance you couldn't flat out tell him not to do something — that was one way to assure that he'd do just the opposite. Expecting Sam to get up in his face and argue about how it was Sam's choice, blah, blah, blah, his baby brother did the unexpected. He stood up slowly from the couch and stepped away from Dean.

Sam's eyes peaked from beneath the messy, brown fringe obscuring half his face, telegraphing wary distrust. And then he fidgeted and his eyes slid away. "I'll go see about lunch."

With an uneasy gait, Sam shuffled into the kitchen without making further eye contact.

A deep hurt filled Dean. Sam never gave in without a fight. He always nudged and tugged and cajoled until Dean gave in. Sharing and caring, persistence and stubbornness – those were Sam's way. But in the last month Dean had done nothing but push his younger sibling away and slowly Sam had pulled back. Dean had thought it was out of respect for his grief but now he wasn't so sure.

What good did retaining his composure do if he lost Sam? His brother was all he had left. Making up his mind that he'd tell Sam everything, Dean headed for the kitchen. He would be forced to put into words how it was all his fault that Sam was now an orphan, that Dean was rudderless without the larger than life John Winchester calling the shots, and share their dad's final gut wrenching words to Dean — the ones he'd denied point blank when Sam had asked if their dad said anything before dying. But spilling his guts, no matter how traumatic for Dean, was more important than losing Sam.

Dean found himself alone in the kitchen. While he debated the merits of telling Sam all his dirty little secrets, his brother had slipped out the back door.

Slumping into a chair at the table, Dean cradled his head in his hands. His little brother didn't want anything to do with him and Dean had no one else to thank for that except himself.

-0-

Bobby had run into town to get a car part and as he climbed out of his old truck, Dean had stomped by him on his way to the Impala, mumbling something about Sam being stubborn.

The object of Dean's displeasure was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from a coffee mug.

He wasn't sure he wanted to be drawn into the latest Winchester squabble but Bobby knew he wanted another cup of coffee. Snagging a mug out of the cupboard he tipped the coffee pot expectantly. Nothing came out. Empty.

Bobby shook his head, a smile stretching his lips. It didn't matter what he did, he couldn't get a second cup of coffee in his house. A bark of laughter emerged from his lips.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby saw a small smile ghost across his guest's face. Sam's eyes darted from the carafe in Bobby's hands to the empty mug and back to Bobby's face. The smile on the younger man's face turned sheepish. "Sorry 'bout that Bobby. Why don't you sit down and let me make another pot."

Ceding the coffee maker to Sam, Bobby settled in a chair and tried not to stare at the younger man. He couldn't help himself as he noted the deep grooves bracketing Sam's mouth and the lethargic way he moved from the freezer to maker with coffee in hand.

Sam's hand even shook as he spilled out cinnamon on top of the coffee grounds. Bobby had wondered why Sam's coffee smelled and tasted so good. "Cinnamon! So that's what you've been adding."

Shoulders bunched as Sam measured out the water and poured it into the machine. Turning around he made eye contact. "It's healthy for you. Supposed to lower your blood sugar. Is it hot in here?"

Noting the quick change of topic, Bobby's eyes narrowed as first Sam raised a shaky hand to his forehead and then stripped out of his flannel shirt with jerky movements. He kept his eyes glued on the younger man as he shuffled over to a kitchen chair and hung his shirt from the back of it, his face suffused with bright pink. The boy was definitely unsteady on his feet and would bear watching. But Bobby needed to be subtle. "Tastes good. That's all I care about. Not at all like that sludge your brother insists on brewing."

Sam was the only person who'd actively tried to get Bobby to take care of himself since his wife had died. And although Bobby usually ignored the healthy recipe suggestions and cooking tips, he still appreciated the concern. Bobby would like to return the favor, if only Sam would allow it. But Sam wouldn't even let his older brother get near him.

Of course some of that was Dean's own fault. The older brother had become adept at pushing Sam away when anyone could see the youngest needed a little coddling, not sharp words.

Sam took a step, listing to his right. Bobby jumped to his feet quickly, barely grabbing Sam's arm before he started to slide to the floor.

Forget coddling. The boy needed a medic.

Bobby guided Sam to the table and pushed him into a chair, the young man stumbling over his feet, pink cheeks receding to a chalky white. When Sam propped his elbows on the table and let his head sink forward into his hands, Bobby suspected he was fighting off dizziness or a faint. Unable to see Sam's eyes through the tangle of hair, Bobby crouched down on a knee and peered closely at his face.

He took a moment to study the nearly unconscious man and didn't like what he saw – nearly translucent skin stretched taut over pronounced cheekbones and dry, shallow breathes emerging from cracked, parted, bloodless lips.

Crepitus groaned in his knees as Bobby straightened from his kneel. Crossing to the sink he thrust his last clean hand towel under cool water and wrung it out. Coffee wasn't the only thing in short supply since the Winchesters had arrived on his doorstep.

Bobby draped the cool cloth across the back of Sam's neck.

The kid needed to eat more. And drink more, too. Sam was probably dehydrated. Not to mention whatever the Memory Demon was doing to him.

Carefully cradling Sam's head in his large hands, Bobby rotated it to the side. When Sam didn't object to the handling, Bobby's deft fingers probed the exposed skin just under the hairline. He could feel the scar made long ago when they'd done makeshift surgery on his kitchen table but it didn't feel particularly swollen. There was so much hair it was hard to get a good look at the site.

Sam groaned, and swiped a feeble hand where Bobby smoothed his hair down. "Knock it off."

His patient was definitely feeling better if his tone of voice was anything to go by – crabby but strong.

When Sam pushed back from the table to lean against the back of the chair he wobbled for a moment, and Bobby steadied him by wrapping a hand around his upper arm. He didn't miss the wince his actions caused. "Hello, what's this?"

Bobby pushed the edge of the short sleeved t-shirt up to reveal red marks circling his biceps. Moving to the other side, Bobby found the same red marks on the other arm. "What happened, Sam?"

Sam rolled his head to the side and stared with vague disinterest at his arm. "Dean doesn't want me to communicate with the Memory Demon anymore. But I have to if…"

Clambering back to his feet, Bobby filled a glass with water. Sam's eyes were looking more alert as Bobby clasped Sam's hand around the glass. He wanted to ask the young hunter about why talking to the Memory Demon was so important he was jeopardizing his life, but he had more pressing matters at the moment.

Ignoring the implication that Dean had manhandled the younger man, Bobby set about figuring out why Sam had almost swooned. "Sam, when's the last time you had something to eat?"

Bobby was pretty sure it had been more than twenty-four hours. It was always possible Sam had snuck down in the middle of the night but he didn't think so. The boyish face crinkled in deep thought. "I had a…what day is it today?"

Snorting, Bobby pulled a can of soup out of a cupboard. "That's what I thought. If you want to convince your brother that you're okay, you might want to start by taking care of yourself."

Sam removed the damp cloth from the back of his neck and dropped it on the table, waving away Bobby's concern. "Dean thinks I'm crazy, nothing I do is going to change that. I don't know, maybe I am. But I think the Memory Demon knows something about Yellow Eyes and I'm not going to give up until we have some answers. But you know trigger happy Dean – shoot first and ask questions later."

Emptying the soup into a pan, Bobby measured out water and added it in while stirring it gently over medium heat. Shooting an uneasy glance at Sam he found eyes darkened by pain stared moodily toward Bobby. It was like looking at a young John Winchester, obsessed with killing the thing that took his wife away from him.

And an obsessed man was a dangerous man. Although Bobby was beginning to think there was something other than evening the score on Sam's mind.

-0-

Sam's eyes followed Bobby's movements around the kitchen but his thoughts had turned to the opportunity of a lifetime. At least to him.

Everyone he loved had been taken from him – mother, girlfriend, father. And that included Dean to some extent.

His brother had pulled farther and farther away from Sam, both mentally and physically, as though Sam had the plague. And maybe Dean had the right idea; apparently spending time around Sam was like a death sentence and he couldn't blame his older brother for wanting to put distance between them.

But if they could eliminate Yellow Eyes then maybe he'd at least get his brother back. And if they couldn't destroy the demon then Dean would probably die next. The stakes were too high for Sam to back down now.

When Bobby continually flashed concerned glances his way, Sam realized he was doing nothing to dispel the notion that he was, indeed, crazy. And he badly wanted someone to understand his point of view. He wasn't fighting the contact with the Memory Demon just because he was curious; he thought it could share its knowledge regarding the demon who seemed to have made it its mission to massacre the Winchesters. "Bobby, I don't want Dean to die. I have to find a way to save h…"

And just like that Sam felt the tingling sensation at the back of his head. He could still see Bobby standing in front of the stove but everything was viewed through a gray filter.

_SSSaaammm. _

His one syllable name was dragged into three parts and a shiver stole up Sam's spine.

Everything was okay. He was with Bobby and their old family friend wouldn't let anything happen to Sam. It was time Sam tried to get some information out of their old foe. _Where are you?_

Sam didn't know if he said the words aloud or if he just thought them and he couldn't gage anything by Bobby's reaction; the older man stood at the stove, motionless. Like he'd been turned to stone. So much for Bobby standing look out while he "talked" with the Memory Demon.

_Adsum. _

Shifting through his Latin, Sam struggled to make sense of what he heard. _I am here._

The Memory Demon was here in his head or here in town? Before Sam could complete his thought, he received a visual picture: The branches of a large oak tree swayed in the breeze while water lapped gently at its roots.

Sam recognized this place; it was on the edge of Bobby's property. When he was a kid he used to skip stones across the large pond's surface while everyone else talked business. Either the body of water had shrunk or it had only seemed larger when compared to Sam's childish stature because it was now more like a big puddle instead of a large pond. Sam knew because almost daily he walked around Bobby's property, passing the pond, as he tried to escape his loneliness and stay out of Dean's way.

Heart pounding with excitement, Sam tried to focus. There were so many things he wanted to ask. Like why the demon had sought out Sam, why it was dying, and what it knew about other demons.

A picture shot into his head that made him cringe – a glimpse of what the creature had looked like all those years ago when Sam had been attacked. A big, translucent blob with blue vein-like flecks. No mouth. And sinew and other unidentifiable things undulating below the surface.

_SSSaaammm. Luminosus lucis. _

_Bright shining_. What did that phrase mean, especially when it was strung together with his name?

_I am alone now. The others have left this world. Bright sshining are you so I ssought you out. I am almost but a memory. _

_You are not tainted yet, there is sstill time. There are those who would do you harm and I would help you._

_I will come again, SSaaammm. Before my daaarkness faaalls._

A loud buzz penetrated his head as the connection was broken. Sam blinked sluggishly as he tried to get his bearings.

As the gray seeped out of his vision and the background noise retreated, Sam was confronted with Bobby's worried face peering at him from across the kitchen table.

The older hunter could help Sam decipher what phrases like bright shining and not tainted yet meant. Excited at the prospect of sharing his findings, Sam opened his mouth and a cough took him by surprise as he sputtered weakly. Something wet was pushed under his nose and he became aware of a warm hand cupping the back of his neck. "Dean?"

Sam cursed the wobble in his voice. He needed to show Dean that he was strong, capable.

Something tickled the back of his throat and stole his breath. Invisible hands tilted his head forward and smoothed hair away from his face.

It wasn't fair. He wasn't weak. He wasn't. And he'd prove it.

But first he needed to rest. His eyelids slid closed of their own accord.

-0-

Dean had lost his cool yesterday while trying to get through to Sam and now his younger brother was avoiding him. He couldn't really blame his brother; sure, as children they'd had their fair share of scuffles and fights but Dean hadn't laid a hand on Sam in anger since before the kid went off to college.

And that was another sore subject that Dean refused to contemplate at the moment. His emotions were too close to the surface at the moment.

After rattling Sam around in an attempt to get through to him, Dean had determined it was time to tell his brother about their dad's last words to him. Sam had other ideas and had pulled a Houdini. Dean had been frantic when he couldn't find his brother but after hours of searching Bobby's extensive property he'd returned to find Sam sleeping in his bed. When Dean had tried to rouse him, his brother had let him know with the well placed use of his middle finger that he wasn't in the mood to talk.

Afraid his kid brother would take off if he pushed things too far, Dean had given Sam a wide berth. Not that avoiding Sam was anything new; he'd been doing it the whole time they'd been staying with Bobby.

Driven inside by thirst and hunger, Dean wondered what it would take to get through to his brother. The Memory Demon couldn't be trusted and there was no way Dean could stand by and let another family member fall victim to something supernatural.

Closing the kitchen door soundly, Dean was surprised to find both Bobby and Sam in the kitchen. Good, maybe he could talk to Sam without losing his composure if there was a witness around. Especially their old friend Bobby; the seasoned hunter was just as likely to lend a hand when someone was down and out as he was to smack a person in the back of the head when they were out of line.

Dean didn't miss the way Bobby's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed and he wondered if Sam had been crying on the older man's shoulder about his mean, big brother. And then he noticed that Sam was sitting motionless at the table, face devoid of expression.

Shit, the Memory Demon was at it again.

Rushing to his brother's side, Dean grabbed Sam by the upper arm. "Sam, snap out of it!"

Bobby silently appeared at his side and loosened Dean's grip from his brother's arm. "I think Sam's marked up enough, don't you?"

Perplexed by Bobby's words, Dean's eyes were drawn to the bruises forming on Sam's arm as the older hunter pushed up Sam's sleeve. Shit. He had been a little rough with Sam yesterday but he hadn't meant to hurt him. "You don't understand, I…"

Holding his hands up, Dean stepped away from Sam and slid into the chair next to his brother. He really couldn't excuse his actions. "How long has this been going on?"

His voice was rough with emotion but Dean no longer cared. He was scared about what was happening to Sam. And of what the future held.

Removing his baseball cap and rubbing at the top of his head, Bobby expelled a loud breath. Dean recognized the habit; Bobby was worried, too. "We were talking and then he kind of drifted off mid sentence. It's going on ten minutes now. But he hasn't moved and he looks okay."

Sure, okay in the sense that Sam was upright and breathing on his own. But his little brother's skin was pasty white and his eyes were bloodshot. Not to mention that freaky, vague look on his face.

Sam had always had an expressive face, at least to family and close friends. One look and Dean knew if his brother was happy, sad, angry, or worried and all of the emotions in between. Despite flashing dimples, pouts and scowls, it was Sam's eyes that always told the story. Except now. Sam's hazel eyes were blank, unseeing.

And Dean was completely creeped out and wanted it to stop now. "So what do we do?"

His little brother chose that moment to blink and emit a slight groan. Dean was on his feet and standing just behind Sam in case his brother pitched over in a faint. It wouldn't be the first time Sam had been felled by a vision. Although this wasn't a vision, it was some damned demon messing with his little brother's head.

Sam opened his mouth and wheezed in a breath. A cough followed hard on its heels and red trickled from Sam's nostrils. Another nosebleed. Couldn't his little brother ever catch a break?

Grabbing a damp cloth from the table, Dean inserted it under Sam's nose and applied pressure. He cupped the back of Sam's neck firmly with his other hand to hold his little brother's head in place.

"Dean?"

Crap. Sam's voice had that little wobble in it. The one that always meant things were about to go south. Dean recognized it from his years of Sammy sitting over the years.

His kid brother gasped and lightly gurgled. Although he'd been hurt much worse in the past, his current condition was scaring the crap out of Dean. "Sammy?"

Dean gently pushed Sam's head forward more, hoping to stop the bleed and prevent his brother from choking on blood.

Sam kept tilting forward and Dean guided him until his head rested on the kitchen table. Dean smoothed the hair away from his brother's face as he dropped to a knee next to his chair.

He needed to get a handle on this now. There was no way he was losing Sammy. His brother was the only thing keeping him going.

-0-

Scratching the whiskers on his chin, Bobby watched the youngest brother carefully. At least with Sam's head resting forward against the table, they didn't have to worry about him choking. It was hard to tell if the nosebleed had eased off yet since Sam's long hair obscured his face. If the nosebleed wouldn't quit or if Sam didn't wake up then they'd need to get him to a hospital.

They wouldn't know anything for a few minutes more. This was as good a time as any to talk to Dean.

Bobby caught Dean's eye as the older brother tended the younger. "There's not much in the literature about Memory Demons to begin with and there sure as hell isn't any information about how to kill one. But Sam said it's dying, maybe we just have to bide our time."

Dean's eyes snapped at him in irritation. The older brother had sought and found Sam's pulse and had assured himself that his brother was okay for the time being; Bobby knew if that weren't the case, Dean would be doing more than just glaring at him right now.

Keeping a hand on the back of Sam's neck, massaging lightly, Dean growled a response. "Bide our time. You sound like Sammy. This _thing_ is murdering my brother and you expect me to just stand by and do nothing?"

Tamping down on his urge to roll his eyes, Bobby stared Dean down until the younger man dropped his eyes. These Winchesters could be such drama queens. "No, I don't expect you to do nothing. But Sam here thinks this demon can give him information on Yellow Eyes. And right before the Memory Demon dropped in for a visit, Sam was telling me something, something about you."

"What about me?"

Petulance and wariness encompassed the words but Bobby pressed on. "Did it ever occur to you that Sam is in such a lather to kill the yellow eyed demon because he's afraid you're next?"

Dean's head snapped up so quick it was a wonder he didn't give himself whiplash. "What are you talking about? Sam wants revenge. Same as Dad did."

And there was the crux of the matter – it never occurred to Dean that Sam wanted to protect him. The oldest brother had always taken his duty to look out for the youngest seriously, to the exclusion of everything else.

Shaking his head, Bobby suspected what he was about to say would fall on deaf ears. The Winchesters were a stubborn lot. "Maybe that was true right after his girlfriend died. Everyone else he's loved is dead at the hands of this demon. It sounds like he thinks ole Yellow Eyes is gunning for you next. Really can't fault his logic, can you?"

The boy's expression was part incredulous, part something Bobby couldn't put his finger on. "But nothing's going to happen to me. I'm fine. Sam's the one I worry about. I have to make sure he's okay."

There was that song and dance again about looking out for Sammy. Sure, Bobby thought Dean had sucked in that department lately but over the course of knowing the family, Dean was the one who had seen to Sam's needs. "You didn't see him when you were in a coma. He was beside himself with worry. Hell, he didn't take care of himself after the crash and that's half the reason he looks like crap now. He worries just as much about you as you do him. And that's why he wants to take a chance with the Memory Demon. Don't you owe it to him to let him try?"

There. Bobby had said his piece. He was no counselor but anyone could see that both boys were fucked up and needed help. But being Winchesters, they were going to suck it up and take care of things themselves. It was like watching a train wreck about to happen.

Sam groaned and pushed his head off the table, signaling the end of the conversation. Dean was too busy checking Sam over to pay Bobby any mind.

Yep, definitely a train wreck in the making. But Bobby would do what he could instead of sitting on the sidelines. He just wished he knew how to help.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Twilight Zone – Part 3 of 3

Summary: A creature from their past revisits the boys in their time of grief. Will they be able to put aside their feelings and deal with this old threat? Set directly after ELAC (S2).

-0-

Dean was at least used to the way Sam stilled and stared when he was "talking" to the Memory Demon, but the frequency with which the visits were rolling over Sam was freaking Dean out. Under the healing cuts and bruises on his brother's face, the skin was pallid. Dark pouches under his eyes that bespoke of exhaustion.

And the exhaustion, as much as Sam's continuing insistence on forming a bond with that _thing_, were scaring the hell out of Dean. They'd lost so much recently and now his brother was jeopardizing his health and that did not fly at all with Dean.

He'd taken Bobby's words to heart and tried to do things Sammy's way and it just wasn't working.

Sam was furiously scribbling in a notebook between bouts of the conversations; one moment he would be scrawling illegibly on the paper and the next the pen would drop from nerveless fingers as Sam's eyes lost their focus and all movement save breathing ceased. It was beyond creepy.

His brother was sitting out on Bobby's swing on the porch, and a light breeze tugged and tossed brown strands of hair across Sam's face haphazardly. He had spent a good fifteen minutes observing Sam, who had gone mind walkabout again, and Dean was formulating a plan. It wasn't nice, in fact it was pretty devious, but Dean didn't delude himself — he'd do whatever it took to get his only family back, safe and sound.

A shiver rippled through Sam's body and then he was blinking dazed eyes, staring at Dean in confusion. This was another aspect of the routine that Dean found loathsome — his little brother should never be that disoriented.

Sliding an arm around Sam's thin shoulders, Dean tried to bolster his brother's flagging strength. "What do you say we head indoors, maybe find you something to eat?"

Sam sighed, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. "I'm not really hungry."

His brother's voice was hollow. Dean could feel him slipping away and decided it was time to act. "Come on, you'll be more comfortable inside."

Dean tugged Sam up and steadied him when he swayed, before guiding him in to the living room and settling him on the worn couch. He wanted to make Sam comfortable and trusting; he needed to know 

where the Memory Demon was and get an idea of its weakness. It was time to put an end to this farce. "So, any luck with information on old Yellow Eyes?"

Dragging a hand across his face, Sam frowned. "No, not yet. But now that it's closer by, I can hear it better. It's failing. It won't be around much longer."

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes — Sam was failing every bit as much as that demon — Dean tried to sound sensitive and sympathetic. "Well, is there anything we can do to help it? Make it more comfortable or something?"

He was flat out fishing for information, and the fact that Sam was letting himself be suckered by Dean's facade told him a great deal about his brother's condition. "It needs to be kept moist but the pond is taking care of that. There's really nothing we can do except wait."

Mournful was a good word to describe Sam's voice. His brother was grieving for that cursed demon even as it tried to destroy him. Of course Sam would never see it, so it was up to Dean to take care of him and damn the consequences. "Oh, the pond at the edge of Bobby's property? That thing is practically dried up. Are you sure it'll be okay?"

Desperation flashed across Sam's face. "What do you mean the pond is almost dry? It needs that water otherwise it will wither up and die. And it can't, not until I find out more."

Sam was on the edge of hysteria and it tugged at Dean's heart. His voice was cracking and pleading and Dean didn't think his brother was going to like what he was going to do to his new friend.

Sam had just unwittingly given him the information he needed to find and destroy the creature.

Now he had to take steps to neutralize Sam while he took care of the demon. "It's okay, Sam. If it just needs to keep moist, there's enough of the pond left. Just relax. In fact, how about I get you a couple of Tylenol? You look like you have a headache."

Dean was willing Sam to go along with his plan. He thought maybe if he gave Sam a couple of Demerol or Percocet, his brother would just drift off to la-la land and be none the wiser. And maybe if he was zonked out, the demon couldn't get its filthy, creepy tentacles into his brother's brain and muck around.

Leaning his head back against the couch, his brother accepted Dean's offer. "Yeah, that would be good. I can't seem to shake this headache."

It was hard not to say something snarky but Dean held back. Sure, his little brother couldn't shake his headache because he had something supernatural pawing around in his brain almost 24/7.

Loping upstairs, Dean pulled items out of his bag helter skelter as he searched for his emergency stash of painkillers. They had pills in their first aid kit, but it was always good to have something as back up. His hands finally landed on a bottle of Percocet. He shook out two of the tablets before returning downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. His brother was such a light weight when it came to drugs that two ought to do the trick.

Sam reclined against the couch, devoid of energy. It was so unlike his brother that Dean was having a hard time looking at him. He'd just give Sam the pills, wait for them to take effect and then head out to Bobby's garage for the propane torch he'd used last week. "Here, Sammy, this should help."

Without opening his eyes, Sam took the pillows and swallowed them down. "Thanks, Dean. I just want to write a few things down while I remember them. Do you know where the pen went?"

Sam's hand was casting about for the pen, his movements disjointed and haphazard. His kid brother was really out of it, even when he wasn't under the demon's influence. Dean stilled his hands. "Hang on, I'll get you a pen. Just try to relax, okay?"

Dean grabbed a pen off the kitchen counter and returned in time to find Sam at the mercy of the demon again. His eyes were unblinking, his arms held rigidly at his side. Hoping that Bobby would be back soon, Dean bided his time while waiting for the pills to do their job. Perching against the kitchen door jamb, he watched his little brother fall under the spell of the demon for what he hoped would be the last time.

The sessions had been lasting ten or fifteen minutes at a crack recently, so Dean was startled when Sam gave an audible gasp and clambered to his feet after just a few. Hazel eyes darted from where Dean leaned to the front door and he ambled around the coffee table with studied nonchalance.

His little brother was aiming for the front door, uncoordinated limbs lurching along, when Dean figured out what was going on. The jig was up. Maybe the demon had read Dean's memories and squealed on him. Or maybe Sam wasn't as far gone as he'd thought. "Sam, just hold up..."

Sprinting for the door, Dean stopped when he was directly behind his bother and wrapped his arms around Sam's chest, dragging him back away from the door.

Sam bucked and jerked in Dean's arms but couldn't find the strength to break away. Continuing to draw his brother back, Dean manhandled Sam toward the couch.

The coffee table was caught by one of Sam's kicking feet and flipped over, a jarring crash filling the room. "Damn it, Sam, you're going to hurt yourself. Just calm down."

Refusing to surrender, chest heaving as lungs sucked in air, Sam weakly fought on. Dean worried that his brother was going to hyperventilate.

Throwing Sam down on the couch and practically sitting on him, Dean rubbed taut upper arms in an effort to get his brother to chill out.

Sam tried to scramble up but Dean easily caught him around the waist and pulled him back down. Yanking Sam forward against his chest, Dean locked his arms around his brother's back and tried to sooth him. "Ease up, Sam. Can't you see what this thing is doing to you?"

Warm breath panted against Dean's ear. "No, you don't understand. I have to...don't you see...you can't..."

His little brother's voice was small and worn. Broken. Dean's resolve strengthened as he tried to calm his baby brother. He had to protect Sam.

Dean was reminded of a scene from his childhood. He was 8 and heading off for the first day of third grade after summer break. Sam was 4 and had to stay with their next door neighbor, a sweet old lady named Mrs. Johnson. A meltdown ensued. It wasn't the whiny, bratty tantrum of a kid who wanted to get their way. No, Sam was all big, dark eyes in a pale face, frantically trying to rip himself out of Mrs. Johnson's arms and cling to Dean. It had broken the then 8 year old's heart and nothing had changed since then; Sam had the ability to cut to Dean's core with his emotions.

Shaking and shuddering in Dean's arms, Sam continued to babble almost incoherently about saving the demon. Dean could feel him winding down as his movement became more sluggish and he slurred his pleading entreaties.

Sam's head dropped over Dean's shoulder, his arms lax at his side. Rocking his brother from side to side, Dean could almost convince himself he was pacifying a baby Sam. When Sam ceased all signs of struggle, Dean cradled his head in one hand and tipped it off of his shoulder so he could see his brother's face. Bloodshot hazel eyes darted wildly around the room as eyelids fluttered up and down, fighting the narcotics.

Easing his brother back, Dean deposited Sam against the cushion, his long legs still splayed awkwardly in front of him with his feet resting on the floor. Hooking Sam's legs up, Dean stretched them out on the couch. Perching on the edge of the cushion, his hip nestled against Sam's, Dean drew Sam's uninjured hand between his two and rubbed it. His sibling tugged his hand, but it was in vain as Dean clung to it. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I didn't want to do this but you left me no choice. Just try to get some sleep and when you wake up, it will all be over."

Dean pushed Sam's bangs off his face and frowned when his brother tried to shy away. "No, Dean, don't do this. I'm begging you. I've got to...running out of time..."

Sam's voice was barely audible and he tossed his head from side to side, still fighting the pills. The truck door slammed out front and with it came a sense of relief. Bobby would take care of Sam while Dean got rid of the demon. Everything would be okay.

The front door banged shut. "What in tarnation is going on here?"

Rotating his head around, Dean took in the living room; coffee table flipped over, magazines scattered, an over turned lamp and water puddling on the hardwood floor from the half finished glass Sam had used to take his pills. It was a sight, and Dean wasn't surprised at the concern in Bobby's voice. And that didn't even cover his disheveled brother lying limp against the couch cushions. "I've got to do it, Bobby. It's killing him. It's at the pond at the edge of your property and the propane torch should do the trick. Will you look after Sam while I take care of it?"

A hand descended on his shoulder as he turned back to observe his brother, hiccupping and thrashing weakly in distress. "Are you sure about this? Maybe we should all go together."

Dean shook his head no. "I...I gave Sam some pills so he'll sleep. I can't chance waiting. Sam is slipping away and I have to save him."

Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the older man frown heavily. "Please, Bobby. I can't lose Sam, too."

Bobby still wore a skeptical look but he didn't try to talk Dean out of his plan. "I'm going on record as saying this is a bad idea. But I'll watch Sam. Just be careful, Dean. I don't doubt it's dying but who knows what it will do when it's cornered."

Grateful for Bobby's support, Dean turned his attention back to his ailing sibling. "Sammy, I've got to go. Just hang in there a little longer."

Leaning forward, Dean pressed his lips to Sam's clammy forehead. It was an uncharacteristic move for him, but he was trying to get through to his brother. He touched Sam's cheek once, palming it lightly, and was relieved when Sam's eyes closed and his face relaxed.

-0-

Sam was stuck in that twilight zone between waking and sleep. He couldn't make his body obey him, sunk deep into the couch pillows, but his brain continued to fire synapses.

Sam had to warn the Memory Demon. He tried to initiate contact on his end, not expecting it to work, and was stunned when he found himself standing next to the oak tree by the pond. He'd forged a connection with the demon.

_SSSaaammm._

Turning his head to the right, Sam could see the Memory Demon. Or at least what was left of it.

The creature that had traumatized him years before was no more. A viscous puddle, iridescent in the weak sunlight, lay at his feet. One shapeless appendage arose from the amorphous mass and stretched out, touching the still pond water.

_I am but a memory._

"No!"

Panic shot through Sam's body, making him sway in place where he stood. He needed answers. It was too soon. "Please, tell me about the Yellow Eyed Demon. The one who killed my mother and girlfriend. I need to know how to destroy it."

His brother's lithe form strode out from behind the rotting corpse of what was once a Ford Escort.

_You shine brightly. Others sense this. You must hide yourself._

Sam moved between Dean and the demon. He knew his brother wouldn't hurt him. Rubbing the bruises on his arms, he amended that to his brother wouldn't hurt him too much. "Please, I need to know about the demon. I think he senses me."

_So naïve. He does not just sense you, he stalks you. But it is not the only one. The one you call brother would do you harm. You must protect yourself._

Reeling back, Sam almost slid into the pond. Dean wanted to hurt him? He knew he'd done something to raise Dean's ire but all family fought from time to time. "Dean wouldn't hurt me."

_You might have to kill Sam. _

Bending over at the waist, Sam wrapped his arms around his middle. His father's voice. Telling someone (Dean?) he might have to kill Sam. It was too much.

Sam raised his head and bellowed at the sky. It was a wordless, formless screech dragged from the depths of his soul.

A blast of ice enveloped Sam's torso. He writhed, trying to escape it, but it wouldn't let him loose.

Behind him the Memory Demon echoed his cry.

_You must repel the demon blood inside you. Tainted. Wicked. You must guard against it. Go now, pretty SSSaaammm. My time is at an end._

Something tickled his skin. Lowering his eyes, Sam noticed blisters rippling across his arms. Not ice. Fire. Intense heat licked across his exposed skin.

Sam's legs gave out and he crashed to the ground. His hands batted ineffectually at his skin as inescapable pain battered his body.

-0-

Everything was going according to plan. Sam was safely tucked away in the house with Bobby watching over him. Dean had easily located the propane torch and slung it over his shoulder before hot footing it out to the pond.

The oak tree swayed in the breeze as Dean slowed from a sprint to a jog to a walk. Dying or not, the Memory Demon wasn't to be trusted.

Dean paused behind a rusted out Ford Escort and reconnoitered the area.

Surveying the pond he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. When he scanned the area again he spotted what appeared to be an oil slick nestled next to the pond water on the far side of the tree.

Crouching down, Dean swung the propane torch from his shoulder and inched forward. The oil slick bucked and jumped before slithering backward, confirming its identify as the Memory Demon to Dean.

It didn't look so scary to Dean but he continued to approach with caution. It was time to fire up his weapon of choice. He flipped the on trigger, hit the lock button so both hands were free to grip the torch, and wasted no time in targeted the viscous mass.

What followed was the stuff of nightmares.

As heat flowed from the high temperature torch head, the rainbow colors in the oil slick coalesced and a face formed. At least Dean assumed it was a face, although it had no mouth. But the high pitched whining it produced made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The face sizzled and then disappeared as the liquid settled into a rolling boil. But the sound never stopped.

Dean staggered back as his mind was assaulted with pictures. His mom burning and bleeding on the ceiling of their home. His dad's lifeless body on the hospital floor. Sam writhing as blisters appeared on his skin.

He wanted to bolt for the house and check on Sam but he couldn't stop until the demon was dead. Only then would Sam be safe. He concentrated the flame on the dwindling puddle until a flash fire erupted, jettisoning bits and pieces of dead demon.

The smell of charred meat permeated the air and Dean covered his nose with an arm. Satisfied that the demon was dead, he turned off the torch.

In his mind he could still hear the high pitched squeal and his head pounded from the unrelenting noise. Unable to shake the unease surrounding the visions of his family, Dean abandoned the torch and dashed back to Bobby's at top speed.

-0-

Sam whimpered and Bobby moved closer to the couch. Instead of succumbing to the pills immediately, the young hunter had continued to ramble softly after Dean left the house. He'd settled down a few minutes ago but now as Bobby looked on, he began trembling against the cushions. "Dammit, boy. Just relax."

Bobby didn't support Dean's hare brained scheme but he couldn't fault the older brother for wanting to take action against the Memory Demon. Sam was a mess, no two ways about it.

The kid's chest heaved upward, pulling his body taut, and then flopped bonelessly back to the couch. That couldn't be good.

The fine trembling turned to full body quaking and Bobby reached toward the back of the couch to grab the afghan folded haphazardly there. The old afghan had never seen so much use before. As Bobby started to drape the worn fabric across Sam, he noticed red blotches appearing on Sam's forearms.

Glancing at Sam's face, he saw them appear there as well.

The red splotches started to bubble and the sharp smell of ozone simmered in the air.

Sam's skin was blistering before his eyes but Bobby couldn't find the source of heat. Pale lips parted and moved soundlessly as Sam writhed in pain.

Ozone turned to burnt meat and Bobby gagged at the overwhelming smell.

An inhuman sound filled the living room as Sam gave voice to his agony.

Bobby wanted to clap his hands over his ears but he couldn't waste the time.

Drawing a coffin handled Bowie knife from the sheath at his ankle, Bobby began slashing at Sam's clothing. He winced as he drew blood in a couple of places but time was of the essence. When Sam was left in nothing but his boxers, Bobby scooped the young man into his arms.

Despite the weight Sam had lost recently, the load was substantial and Bobby's back groaned in protest. Long limbs draped limply over his arms, swinging in time with each step, as Bobby scrambled up the stairs with the injured man.

Depositing his inert burden in the bathtub, Bobby turned the cold taps on full blast. He smacked the lever for the drain stop and scooped handfuls of cool water over Sam's exposed skin as he willed the tub to fill more quickly.

Sam's breaths shuddered in and out as his limbs shimmied and shook in the slow filling tub.

Staring at the angry red streaks, Bobby ladled the rapidly cooling water over Sam's face. He worried about shock as the raw body quivered so hard, water splashed over the tub. But Bobby was loath to remove Sam from the water yet; the cold liquid soothed the abused skin as blisters finally stopped appearing.

Bobby wanted to retrieve his phone and call for help but Sam banged the back of his head against the tub with force and there was no way he could leave his semi-conscious charge in this state.

A door banged shut downstairs. "Bobby?!"

After sliding a folded towel behind Sam's head to minimize the damage, Bobby answered Dean's panicked call. "Bathroom!"

Dean thumped up the stairs and skidded to a halt next to him. "No, this isn't happening. Sammy?"

When Sam's body jerked and snapped again, Bobby decided it was time to haul his ass out of the water. He didn't even have time to explain to Dean what was happening. "Here, keep his head above water while I get more towels."

Bobby couldn't hear the words but Dean was speaking to his sibling in a soft soothing voice. Dashing down to his room, he returned with a secret stash of clean towels. He provided towels to his guests but he kept the nice ones back for himself; as the host he figured it was his prerogative.

Spreading some of the towels on the floor he resumed command of the situation. "You take his arms, I've got his legs. On the count of three. One, two, three."

Dean managed to wrap his arms around his brother's chest and did most of the work, heaving the heavy wet noodle out of the tub. Bobby wasted no time in wrapping a towel around Sam's shoulders before allowing Dean to support his torso.

-0-

Feeling disconnected from his body, Sam forced his eyes open to slits. Bobby gently blotted his wet legs with a towel. His back was propped up against something, his head sagging to the side as Sam fought for the coordination and strength to hold it up.

At least his skin no longer throbbed. Instead pressure began to build in his temples. His body shook with the force of a sudden tremor. Sam wanted to curl up but arms continued to hold him upright. A low moan slipped from his lips and Sam quivered in embarrassment.

Embarrassment faded as a crushing sensation replaced the pressure in his head.

_Tainted. Wicked. Save Sam. Kill Sam._

"Just relax, Sammy. I've got you."

Dean. His brother was holding him up.

Sam strained forward in a blind panic, nearly knocking Bobby over as he kicked his legs for leverage.

Dean wanted to hurt him.

No, that wasn't right. Dean always looked out for him.

But his brother drugged him and left him to die.

Some instinct was driving him on as he twisted and jerked, trying to get free of the hands holding him back. He didn't know what to believe at the moment so he fought on.

Bobby's face was a blur as he struggled to hold Sam's legs down. Claustrophobia set in as a strong band clamped around his chest, locking his arms against his body. A loud roar and swish filled his ears. Bobby's mouth was moving but Sam couldn't hear what he said.

His breaths came in strangled pants as he twitched against his brother's grip. "Dean, no. Leave me alone. Please."

Sam didn't know if he said the words aloud. He couldn't pull enough oxygen into his lungs and his vision was blackening at the edges. Something snapped inside his head like a rubber band and his struggling abruptly ceased.

"Don't hurt me, Dea…"

Blackness overwhelmed, stealing his breath and vision.

-0-

One moment Sam was fighting like a wildcat and the next he was hanging passively in Dean's arms.

Dean wanted to blame Sam's response on shock. He didn't understand what had happened to his brother. He should have been safe here with Bobby. Instead red dots resembling chicken pox peppered Sam's skin and there was no denying that some of them were weeping like popped blisters.

But Sam's whispered words cut him to the quick. _Leave me alone._ _Don't hurt me._

And he'd said Dean's name both times. Like he was afraid Dean would really hurt him.

Sam was his little brother, his to protect. It had been that way since the fire that stole their mom away. Even when his little brother had fled to Stanford, Dean had kept tabs on him, looked out for him. And now Sam was afraid of him?

Something wet splattered on Dean's hand as he shifted the dead weight in his arms. Something red.

His worries about his faltering relationship with his brother were replaced by a more immediate need; Sam's health.

Bobby, level-headed throughout the ordeal, recognized the nosebleed and thrust a washcloth under Sam's nose. "Sam, boy, can you hear me?"

When no response was forthcoming, Bobby nudged Dean. "Let's get him up off the floor and move him to the bedroom. Dean!"

Fingers snapped near his face. Dean wanted to glare at the older man but he couldn't scrape up the effort. Something was really wrong with Sam.

When the older man gathered up Sam's legs, Dean snapped out of his lethargy. He shifted Sam until he was cradled in his arms and then Dean heaved himself to his feet. The thought that he was losing Sam caused adrenaline to surge through his body, making the task of carrying his brother manageable. Bobby cleared a path and soon Dean was lowering his brother onto the bed.

Sam's chest hitched and a fine red mist was expelled in a sputter. Dean climbed to the head of the bed and inserted himself between the headboard and his brother. Bobby deftly propped his brother's lanky body against his chest so that Sam wouldn't choke on any blood.

Bobby perched on the side of the bed and held the washcloth under Sam's nose, trying to staunch the sluggish flow of blood. "Is the demon dead?"

Startled by Bobby's words, Dean realized they'd been so busy trying to stabilize Sam's condition that nothing had been said about the Memory Demon.

Squelching the urge to laugh hysterically as the lyrics to Disco Inferno came to mind (_burn, baby, burn – disco inferno; burn, baby, burn – burn that mother down_), Dean found his voice. "It's gone. Scorched to a cinder by the propane torch. It can't bother Sammy now."

Bobby frowned while adjusting the washcloth. "The blisters just suddenly appeared. The bathtub was the only thing I could think of to help."

The way the older man carefully parsed his words together told Dean that what had transpired in the house had been anything but a walk in the park.

Sam shifted a fraction and Dean waited with a sense of dread; would his brother struggle to get away from him again or would he be coherent this time?

"Easy, Sam. Does anything hurt?"

Sam was awake and Bobby was speaking in a low, soothing voice. No one wanted to startle Sam.

A shaky hand lifted toward Sam's head before it dropped back to the bed, lax against the spread. Dean concentrated on holding the body in his arms loosely. He didn't want to provoke his brother in any way.

Bobby grabbed Sam's chin and lifted his face, brushing the tangled brown fringe to the side of his face. The older hunter's eyes flared in conjunction with a gasp. "Okay, Sam, I want you to just rest there. Don't try to move."

A large, calloused hand grabbed Dean's and guided it to the washcloth under Sam's nose. "What?"

Dean spoke the word as softly as he could, still afraid his presence would freak out Sam.

Bobby was already to the doorway when he whirled around and tapped a finger next to his eye. He disappeared before Dean could query him further.

The body in his arms twitched uncontrollably. Dean couldn't tell from his position if Sam was having a seizure or shivering so he eased him out of his arms and onto his side. The chances of choking were minimized with Sam in that position and it afforded Dean a chance to assess him further, maybe see what Bobby was talking about.

His hip pressed into the small of Sam's back as he curved his body over Sam's head and pushed his damp wavy hair to the side. The exposed eye was slowly blinking, the sclera no longer bright white or even blood shot; instead it was a red, bloody patch.

Something tickled Dean's memory. Sam had a hemorrhage. At one time or another each of the Winchesters had suffered from what was basically a bruise on the eye – heavy lifting, coughing, sneezing, even vomiting were enough to trigger it – and it would fade away in a couple of weeks without requiring treatment. But it had been drilled into their heads growing up that sometimes the change was wrought by high blood pressure or a bleeding disorder and when in doubt, it should be checked out.

The hemorrhage in the eye, coupled with the frequent nosebleeds, were cause enough to seek treatment. Throw in the unknown consequences of the Memory Demon surfing around Sam's mind and Dean found himself on the verge of panic.

"Why'd you do it, Dean? I asked you not to. Now I can't save you. And the fire…"

Sam's pained voice cracked and hitched until it drifted off.

Dean didn't know what to do; he was losing his composure, his ability to be rational.

Bobby was right. Sam thought Dean needed to be saved. If only Sam knew the truth; it was Dean's job to save Sam. Their dad had entrusted Dean to save his little brother or else.

His calloused finger drifted up of its own volition and gently traced the skin around a blister on Sam's cheek. Dean's thoughts were racing uncontrollably, his hand shaking. What if Sam had blistered because he was connected to the demon when Dean had torched it? Dean thought he'd taken every precaution to keep Sam safe but the results of his actions – red, weeping skin – were staring him in the face.

But if Sam could forgive the Memory Demon for causing him to scald his hand and step in front of a moving car, then surely his brother would forgive Dean for killing the Memory Demon. Dean had to believe that; if Sam turned his back on him, Dean would be lost.

Sam rolled farther on to his side, leaving Dean bereft at the loss of contact. His brother's limbs flailed, blood from his nose coating the bedding. "Please, just go away."

Dean didn't know what to do. Disoriented or not, Dean's presence was causing Sam distress.

Bobby picked that moment to return to the bedroom. He retrieved the discarded washcloth and applied it to Sam's upper lip. "I called 911. Why don't you bring the paramedics upstairs when they get here?"

Ignoring the look of compassion evident on Bobby's face, Dean slid off the bed, careful not to jostle Sam.

He needed Sam to be okay so he could make things right between them.

-0-

Sam lifted his eyes and stared at the stark, white ceiling above him. He'd shifted back to awareness in slow, painful stages only to find himself alone. Clearing his mind as best he could, he concentrated on the Memory Demon; there was a black hole where the entity had once dwelled in his mind.

So Dean had succeeded in killing the demon.

At least Sam had been able to write down some of the information the Memory Demon had passed on to him. Although Sam was pretty broken up about the fact that the demon hadn't been able to, or refused to, disclose how to rid the world of the Yellow Eyed Demon.

He needed to save Dean from the same fate that had befallen his parents and Jess. It was a lost opportunity and that depressed the hell out of him. And frightened him.

Sam had begged Dean not to kill the demon and it pained him that his pleas had been ignored. Pushing past the hurt feelings, he realized he missed his brother.

Turning his head slightly he saw equipment strewn around the room confirming that he was in the hospital. But right now he was worried about one thing; his brother. If Dean were okay, he'd be planted in the plastic chair next to Sam's bed.

And Sam felt lost without his big brother's steadying presence.

Pain in his temples thundered to a crescendo and for a moment Sam believed he was in the throes of a vision. No vision; instead he found himself overcome by a memory of what the demon had visited upon him in its final moments.

_Dad said that I'd have to save you. And if I couldn't save you, I'd have to kill you. _Dean had been harboring one hell of a secret. And it was about Sam. No wonder his brother had been so on edge around him.

And it bothered Sam more than he would admit to that Dean hadn't told him about their dad's last words. Sam had specifically asked Dean if John Winchester had said anything to him before he'd died and Dean had said no.

Sam's brain was still scrambled from all of the interaction with the Memory Demon so it was hard making sense of what had happened.

He'd believed the demon when it said it could help Sam but looking back it was probably just a ploy; the demon had been lonely and having formed a link with Sam once, had easily forged one again. Sam understood loneliness but there's no way he would have tempted fate, putting himself at the mercy of such an unpredictable entity, if he'd believed he wouldn't take away something that would help in his quest to destroy Yellow eyes.

Dean's life was at stake.

Feeling too wrung out and ill equipped to deal with his feelings, and failings, Sam turned his attention to working out why he was in the hospital. There was a mask covering his nose and mouth and as he thought of his nose, he realized the inside of it felt raw. A headache throbbed at the back of his head but he vaguely remembered knocking it against the back of the bathtub. He wasn't exactly sure why he'd been in the bathtub, though.

Closing his eyes, he told himself to relax. Somewhere around the bed there ought to be a call button and if he could find it, he could find out about his brother.

With a deep breath he opened his eyes and started searching for the call button. His fingers collided with a hand and startled, he quickly withdrew his with a gasp. A figure drifted into his line of vision. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam was so surprised to see the object of his thoughts that Dean had almost made it to the door before he found his voice. "Dean, wait."

-0-

Dean slipped quietly into Sam's room. It was a double room but at the moment Sam was the only occupant.

His brother continued to sleep despite Dean's presence. Creeping closer to the bed he saw the remnants of Sam's ordeal.

Sam was still pale beneath the oxygen mask, despite the units of blood they'd pumped into his body.

His brother's blood pressure had bounced from so high as to be in the danger zone to so low Sam kept losing consciousness that a blood pressure cuff remained wrapped around his right biceps.

The nosebleed had been cauterized and the doctors were mystified that it could have caused the depleted blood volume to begin with, but they were unable to find another explanation.

The scans and x-rays hadn't turned up anything more suspicious than past head trauma, already healed.

No new damage.

His brother, the modern medical miracle.

The once blistered skin had faded so that Sam appeared to be more heavily freckled than those on Dean's own fair complexion.

Had his overzealous actions resulted in causing Sam more harm than the thing by the pond?

"_Tainted. You've been tainted. Wicked, bad human. The memories are delicious but we can't keep you. You've been marked. You belong to something else."_

That's what the Memory Demon had told Sam when he was thirteen. Dean couldn't understand why Sam had let himself be suckered in by some sweet talking demon, especially one that had threatened him years ago.

And it had nearly killed him when his little brother had begged Dean to leave the demon alone. As if. Sam was so far gone at that point that he couldn't make rational decisions.

Although maybe there could have been another way. Lord knows his way almost got Sammy killed.

Sam gave an audible sigh before his eyes snapped open. The white sclera on both eyes had been replaced by bright red and although the nurses had warned Dean they would heal on their own, it was disconcerting to see. As his brother fumbled for something with desperation, Dean located the call button and shoved it toward Sam's hand.

His brother's cool fingers collided with his skin and Sam jumped, gasping in dismay. What did Dean expect? Every time Dean had been in the room, Sam had become agitated. Maybe with time Sam would forgive him. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

He made for the door and was halted in his tracks when Sam spoke. "Dean, wait."

Dean didn't want to see the disapproval in his brother's face but he'd do what he had to in order to make things right. Sam's scratchy voice called to him again. "Are you okay?"

There was no disapproval, only concern. "Me? I'm not the one in the hospital."

Concern melted into confusion. Sam squinted at him and then his eyes slid away. "Oh, I woke up alone and…never mind."

Sam's lips were turned down in a pout beneath the oxygen mask. Dean could have sworn his little brother was hurt because Dean hadn't been at his side when he woke up. The same little brother who had told him repeatedly to leave him alone and go. "When can I take this stupid thing off?"

His brother's voice was gaining strength. Sam reached up and tugged at the oxygen mask. Dean captured his brother's hands and pulled them away from the mask. When Sam didn't tug out of his grasp or tell him to leave, he found himself relaxing a little. "Your oxygen levels were all over the map so you need to leave it on for now. They couldn't put the prongs in your nose because they cauterized the bleed and didn't want to irritate their handiwork."

Comprehension dawned on Sam's face. "What about the head of the bed. My neck is sore from craning up to see you. Can we put this thing up?"

Dean dropped down into the chair next to the bed, still holding Sam's hands awkwardly in his own. "Your blood pressure kept bottoming out, McFainty, so you need to stay flat until the doctor gives his okay."

Definitely a pout. Blood red eyes tried to work Dean and damned if they didn't have the same effect as Sam's normally hazel eyes. But Dean held fast. His position was strengthened as Bobby stepped into the room. "You scared the crap out of us, Sam. How 'bout you at least wait until tomorrow before you start giving us a hard time?"

-0-

Bobby stopped outside of Sam's room with a coffee in each hand. Dean refused to snatch some shut-eye so Bobby figured he'd pump him full of caffeine. At least until he crashed.

Pushing the door open with his foot, he heard soft voices.

"Can we put this thing up?"

"Your blood pressure kept bottoming out, McFainty, so you need to stay flat until the doctor gives his okay."

At last. Sam was awake. And he wasn't booting Dean out of his room.

Easing into the room, Bobby made his presence known. "You scared the crap out of us, Sam. How 'bout you at least wait until tomorrow before you start giving us a hard time?"

It was hard to make out the smile behind the oxygen mask but Bobby couldn't miss the way Sam's hands were enfolded between Dean's.

And the older brother, allergic to Hallmark moments, was lovingly holding his kid brother's hands as though he was afraid Sam would float away without the contact.

Bobby set the coffees down on a tray table and approached the bed. "One of those coffees had better have my name on it."

Sam's voice was muted by the mask but strong and sure. The red eye effect was freaky as hell but if you concentrated on Sam's eyes, the hazel rings could be seen. "When the doc clears you, I'll have Dean here whip up a batch of his brew at home and bring it to you in a thermos so you can enjoy it at your own pace."

A bark of laughter greeted Bobby's words. "You're a cruel man, Bobby Singer. What did I ever do to you to deserve that fate?"

Bobby's humor faded as he seriously considered Sam's question. There had been a moment or two when he was positive Sam was stroking out on them. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again. At least not while under my roof."

Dean's neck was swiveling between Sam and Bobby as though he were watching a ping pong match. But he still clung to his brother's hands.

Sam's mood had subdued as well. "I'm sorry, I thought the Memory Demon was the answer to all my problems. It had me so screwed up, I didn't realize how much damage it had done."

Lightly chafing Sam's hands between his own, Dean jumped into the conversation. "I should have listened to you, Sam. I almost took you out when I killed _it_."

A lot of raw emotions were wrung out of that one word. Dean couldn't even bring himself to call the thing a demon.

The younger brother didn't say anything but Bobby was pretty sure he squeezed one of Dean's hands. A difficult feat to perform when the older brother had a death grip on both of Sam's hands.

Sam shifted restlessly on the bed and a clump of hair fell over his right eye, obscuring it from view. Dean kept holding on to Sam's hands while disengaging one of his own to smooth the hair out of his brother's face.

Bobby felt like a bit of a voyeur as he watched the gentle scene play out before him. He decided to give the brothers some privacy. Maybe they could work out some of their issues.

"There's something I have to tell you, Sam. It's about Dad."

Dean's voice cracked with deep emotion.

The door swished shut behind Bobby. He was a curious man and wanted to know what Dean was going to tell his brother but it wasn't his business.

Bobby didn't consider himself to be a sentimental man but for one moment, everything seemed right in the world. The two young men in the room behind him, the closest thing to sons Bobby would ever have, were trying to mend fences. It did his old, grumpy heart good.

"Crap. The coffee."

Once again the Winchesters had managed to get between Bobby and his java fix.

The world shifted back on its regular axis as Bobby glared his unhappiness at a pretty young nurse walking by. Maybe he could hit a drive-thru on his way home for a cup of caffeine. He was going to need it while he cleaned up the mess caused by the brothers' misadventures.

Finis

A/N: My thanks to Anjelicious who said in a review for Enter Sandman that she would love to read a sequel where something happened to Sam again when he was older. That sounded like a great idea to me and Twilight Zone was born.

Thanks again to my beta dream team, Gidgetgal9 and Floralia; I'd be lost without their guidance, humor and friendship.

Ongoing thanks to my mentor and friend, Faye Dartmouth -- I gave her break from this story because she's got more exciting things on her horizon at the moment -- but without her support and mentoring I wouldn't be posting.

And thank you for taking a trip through this Twilight Zone.


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